Sherlock
by Captain the Giant
Summary: Various unrelated one-shots, chapters, and ideas related the show Sherlock, mainly involving John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Basically, my trash bin of ideas.
1. Standard Disclaimer

Dear Reader,

The following are snippets, ideas, chapters, drabbles, and beginnings of one shots or stories that I have held wandering in my head. This is for all intents a trash bin for 'plot bunnies.' I ask that if an idea intrigues you to write of it, please review with a note to say you shall continue it. I find myself intrigued as to what you will take from it and would very much like to read your thoughts and future expansions upon the idea.

Please take open minds ahead, as there may be slash, mature material, language, and other such discretions to advise. Warnings regarding each chapter will be labeled accordingly at the beginning.

I also ask that you disregard many of the errors and typos within these, as many were written as the idea struck and are not proofread. I know they hold mistakes that I would not allow if I intended to continue with the idea.

Thank you sincerely for your time,

Captain the Giant

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make profit off of any of the following. The characters and setting tend to belong to someone far richer and more creative than me (at this time).


	2. Angsty Drabble

Sherlock oneshot

Characters: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes

Genre: angsty

Rating: T

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><p>They don't tell you this part of coming home from a warzone. Well, not really home. It is more of an empty city that held fond memories that you cannot even remember why they were fond.<p>

It is much too damp here. He would almost say to cold, but not in weather. The Afghan nights were cold as well, and the days unbearably dry and hot. But, here, in this city, it was too modern. It was too distant. It was too cold. Everything about the city spoke of clean lines and movement. Crowds strode past each other every day, giving no look to each other or their lives. They past grass and trees and life, but they do not even look at it as if each other or where they live is important.

Queen and country. He fought for queen and country. A country full of people in this too cold city, who needn't glance at each other or care about where and who they lived with.

He breathes deep, glancing at the clock in his bedsit with distraught eyes. He closes them, thinking of the camaraderie and action of the warzone. People cared for each other there, on both sides. And, they fought for their futures and their families. The heat bled into their souls, isolating them in night terrors and scarring them on skin and brain.

Only for a moment does he relish the vision of where he had been. The hallucination of where he wished to be. Anger wells up in him as he feels the twinges of pain that bring him back to a useless shoulder, a psychosomatic limp, and a gray, impersonal bedsit.

He looks at the clock. There was no chance to catch his appointment now. And, why would he? He had no chance to fight again. He is slowly losing the war to stay in control of why he had fought and healed.

Folding the gun between his hands, he points it upwards.

Ironic.

A bullet to end his career would soon end his life.

Finger on the trigger, he wonders if today is the day.

A loud cracking sounds through the air just as a crash happens on the street outside. Loud sirens and screeching tires filling the smoggy air.

If only he had made his appointment. A few hours longer and he would have met the man who would have kept him from pointing the gun at himself and pointing it towards those to harm him.

But, today was the day, and it would take several days until the body was found.

It would have been sooner if not for the accident outside that day, masking the sound of his suicide. It would have been sooner if not for the brother of the British government had not been killed soon after to a serial murderer.

But, though they did not meet that day alive in this life, they would meet again in the next.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were never meant to live without the other. When one dies, the other quickly follows.

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><p>This would not have been my first choice to begin my trash bin of ideas, but it came and I did not want to save it on my computer or edit it.<p> 


	3. Reichenbach Drabble Story Idea

Just something during Reichenbach. A what could have happened to prevent Sherlock from letting John think him dead. I always thought John much more intelligent, but overlooked by Sherlock's brillance. The only thing I could think of to change Sherlock's plans was this.

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><p>"You can't die, you know."<p>

The statement comes from nowhere, at least, from somewhere that Sherlock cannot deduce. In this case, the consulting detective has wide eyes, only very slightly, at the statement that slide out of John's mouth.

"John?"

"You can't die. So, whatever you are thinking about… whatever, Moriarty has convinced you of, you can't die."

"John," states Sherlock, almost sympathetically, wondering if John knows of his plans of faux-suicide, but dismisses it. "You realize that death is not something that can be stopped."

"Oh, I know that, Sherlock," sharply states John, eyes snapping upwards. In moments like this, Sherlock sees the intelligence often overlooked in John when the man stands next to him. And, though, sometimes Sherlock may treat John like an idiot, he never overlooks the man's intelligence. "God only knows if we will live to old eyes with the way we go about life."

"I do not see your point," Sherlock admits rather reluctantly. John scoffs slightly.

"You can't die, Sherlock," levels John, staring at him seriously. "Because you are the only thing between myself and my gun. And as long as you're in between that, the gun will never go off."

Sherlock feels a rush of chill come over him at the realization that John had been very close to suicide before they had met. He had not seen it, because John was no longer suicidal once their lives had intertwined. He had miscalculated. He might have to rethink his plans for the hospital.

John leaves him with one last sentence that cements his deductions.

"Death may not be stopped, Sherlock, but it can be invoked."

Correction. He would definitely have to rethink his plans. If John were not here when he was finished, there would be nothing to come back to.

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><p>I am just in that angsty sort of mood today.<p> 


End file.
